Change
by midfielder
Summary: They start small, then time does its magic.
1. Chapter 1

"And from your lips she drew an hallelujah."

---

The trail of littlest breadcrumbs starts with the extra cup of coffee.

Then, the occasional scrutinizing looks, which later evolve and get articulated in "Are you okays?" and the unnecessary reassurances that take the various forms of "You're going to be fine", "You're not alone in this" and here's the kicker, "I care about you".

It's one thing to think it.

But to say it aloud?

You've always had an uncanny degree of self-awareness even as a child, which makes you adept at reading people but also makes you resistant to self-denial and deception. You know it's a disservice to yourself if you were to lie, pretend: your initial investment in this was nothing more than self-preservation. They wanted access to Walter. You were just the key, to be discarded once the door was open.

But then, door opened, you let loose the biggest crumb, made the stupidest move you can make (how's that genius IQ working for you?): you stuck around.

Not only that.

You tolerate (very) early morning wake-up calls (you are not a morning person as Walter will attest to).

You do weird favors for her (you wish it was naughty as it sounds).

You went on a sting operation with her so you could keep her safe (nevermind that the shady guys you were meeting with had guns and a gene-altering, monster-transforming bio-weapon to boot).

You sold yourself to Nina Sharp for information to save a life but, more importantly (and you would admit to it if it didn't sound so pathetic), to give her birthday a shade of happy.

You stood in between her and the bat-serpent-tiger.

You came back and stayed, while the bomb ticked away.

You held her when she was all but throwing herself off the cliff of sanity.

There's no telling what you'll do next. Just that you will do something. It's a habit now.

Yes, just like ordering that extra cup of coffee. Black with no sugar.

Self-aware that you are, you know changes like these are insidious and often the most dangerous kind, because they begin in trickles, in increments so laughingly small that you overlook them, think them insignificant. And it's precisely because you think they don't matter that they elude your usually astute defenses, slip into the uncharted terrain of your unconscious and there, like mold on deliciously moist bread, they multiply and spread.

The aftermath: what was once unthinkable suddenly becomes reflex, second nature.

There may be hope for this world class, card-carrying cynic (frustrated romantic) just yet.


	2. Chapter 2

"And when I caught myself, I had to stop myself."

---

The first crack on the wall happened the minute he dropped the word "Sweetheart".

You are a fortress unto yourself; your having lasted, endured this long in this FBI business is a testament to it.

So it surprised you how he, at your first encounter, knew how to bait you. That "Honey" was strategically embedded there to get a rise out of you, get under your skin by the mere use of the word, which, laced with light sarcasm, turned the term of endearment into an insult of casual irreverence. The Massive Pain in the Ass first impression was well-placed and you find some minute justification, if not satisfaction, for blackmailing him to cooperate with you.

Then, at some point in time (which you may have missed in the chaos of dealing with consciousness-sharing goodbyes, parallel-universe chases, and traditional bullet-dodging), the tone and the contexts in which he uttered the endearments changed. While he sometimes slips into using babe or honey, he has now settled with sweetheart. The underlying sarcasm has given way to light (and because he's Peter) flirtatious bantering. The irreverence is still there, no doubt, but also, something else.

His words still have...effects on you, but not one of which is anywhere near hostility and instead seems to have gone to the other end of the spectrum. Due to more pressing, matter-of-life-and-death concerns, further self-reflection is delayed and has to be reserved until you have time for a long soak in the bathtub (on second thought, Peter and bathtubs should never share a sentence, if you want to finish the sentence altogether).

For the meantime, all you care to acknowledge is that you still inwardly smirk when you hear them, but more in amusement now than in exasperation. And also, something else.

And that something else has led you, in more than one occasion, to consider returning the favor. You've rehearsed the scenario, felt the word roll off your tongue, imagined how he would react and what he would do.

"Sweetheart."

The delivery would be teasing, a slice for humor, a chunk for flirtation (just because turnabout is fair), but above all, for the shock factor.

You're well aware of how you come off, the image you project as an FBI agent. Cool detachment. Calculating mind. Other traits that make a perfect soldier but a rather socially cautious, some say suspicious, animal in the personal relationships department. The personality package has been drilled into you during training, but unconsciously hardwired to you by a rough childhood. It's a rare human being that you allow in for a tour of Dunham's museum of quirks and horrors. Rachel has some ideas mainly by virtue of a shared childhood. Ella can't know them period. John knew some of them, could have known more.

Peter knows some, usually the most extreme of them. And since he still hasn't started running for the hills (although you gave him the chance to), you think he might stay around for the quirks.

So you sit on the idea, mull it over during the precious few, miscellaneous minutes of the day. Of course, there have been instances when you almost give in, saved only by a thread of self-control. Even then, the desire manifests in carefully picked and worded questions. "I heard you play the piano?" (because you are a frustrated oboe player) "So where's your mother now?" (because your curiosity about him verges on the unhealthy) Maybe the most self-incriminating: "So you two are friends now?" (because you're secretly insecure of Rachel's normal life).

But mostly, you have kept it as non-verbal and vague as you can.

Who can say that your stare is indicative of more than admiration when his eyes are on the piano keys?

Who will notice how you tune out the Bishopspeak (you don't understand it anyway) and focus on him, how the green in his eyes seems to be shade more intense when he intellectually duels with his father?

Who will know that him being worried about you when you were abducted delighted you more than you let on (although that all-too, self-satisfied smile in the car almost gave you away)?

Who can argue that your single-mindedness to find him when it was his turn to be abducted was anything more than a function of your job?

No one - him in particular - will know, unless you want to.

The thing is you do.


End file.
